He kisses me back slowly, like he’s saying you’re welcome without words.
“Let’s go, sunshine.”
reed
. . .
Shopping with her went by in a fucking blur yesterday. She looked incredible in everything she tried on, and I can’t take it anymore.
I should’ve taken her somewhere else to dim the urge to touch her, to kiss her more, but, if I’m being honest, my restraint died a quick, violent death the moment she walked back into my bar looking like a ray of beautiful sunshine.
She’s straddling my lap on the couch, her knees hugging my hips like she belongs there.
My hands stay anchored to her waist, greedy for the feel of her warm skin beneath the thin shirt she stole from me.
Every kiss she gives me comes with a tiny sound in her throat she can’t hide, and each one punches my control clean out of me.
I pull her closer, my hands tentative at first, tracing the curve of her waist.
My burn scars itch beneath my shirt; the twisted skin on my body is a constant reminder of the grief I carry, of how they changed my image and made mehate myself.
I fucking hate them, but with Layla, I don’t hide them anymore.
She tilts her head as her lips brush mine in a soft kiss.
I cup her face, deepening the kiss as my tongue slides past her lips to intertwine with hers.
She moans softly, a sound that shoots straight to my cock, hardening beneath my sweats.
My hands roam lower, slipping under her shirt to feel the smooth heat of her skin. She arches into me, her fingers threading through my hair and pulling me closer.
She shifts her hips once, a careful roll that makes me moan into our kiss.
“Layla…”
“Reed,” she whispers against my lips, breathless, her cheeks flushed pink.
I pull back just enough to look at her, my heart pounding.
She’s so damn beautiful that I could stare at her for the rest of my days and be a happy man.
That’s all I want,life, with her in it.
“Is this too much?” I mumble, my voice rough but steady. I’m not the talkative type, but with her, words came easier. “We can stop if?—”
“No,” she says quickly, her hand pressing against my chest, right over the scars hidden beneath. “I want this. I want you.”
Her lips find the edge of my jaw, kissing lower, slower, as she gently nips at my neck.
My hands slide up her back as my fingers tangle in her hair so I can feel every shaky breath she exhales against my throat.
She pulls back again, looking at me with her pretty blueeyes, honey and amber threads woven through them, as she stares, her pupils dilating.
“I want more, Reed.”
The world narrows to her. To now. To us.
But she still has one foot tangled in another life in LA. And me? I still don’t know if my scars are something she truly wants to see.
